Meenas PoemsGreat I go
with a bow
need not be too low
a little high bow
condescending is lovely
so a bow is primarily
a stoop not lowly
little in slowly
could lead entirely
a realization inevitably
dawn on you gradually
a truth not hastily
says you have stooped to conquer
Wrinkles on the face
seen in phases
say as you age
you become a sage
so in your thirties
see a line scanty
a trace of a line
you ignore and push on
in no time it is forty-one
you see in the mirror
could be a glare
you think for a while
then brush aside in style
walk past the day
the next time in the day
you stand before the glass
not one of the plain glass
again the mirror on the wall
find you looking tall
something is amiss
could it be a bliss
nay not it is a wrinkle
not one but two or three
here and there
looking awkward
seemingly runs inward
around the mouth in lines short
little freckled and knotted
the worry settles in
now how to combat the appearance
go to the face yoga work- out
smile for two minutes in a stand
your face muscles are rejuvenated
stand before the mirror and see yourself
pronounce the vowels softly within yourself
a, e, i,o,u slowly and fully with lips rounding
could find a lot of improvement upcoming
next pull up your lips and hold them together
smile as much as you can stretch them to a flatter
a beautiful impression would follow you in time
one another exercise on the schedule
pout your lips as if in a kiss in an include
repeat all these thirty times in a row
would be done in just a few minutes even be it slow
tell me how you look after the course of lip 
yoga
I would then practise and create a saga.
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The colours I see on the top of my page
red, orange, yellow green and blue
make me wonder being 
strange
I see it for long without a clue.
Could it be for a breach?
nay, I have not violated
Could it be then a praise as such?
I have not done anything to be appreciated.
Well, then why is it there?
I stare at it for quite some time
not able to arrive on anything in a share
I gaze at it with cheer with a smile.
Man defecates
not in private spaces
in public places
an allegation so loud
a complaint very rational
The Man being an Indian.
Man spits
not in the ascribed spaces
well on the public places
a practice undesirous
an action contemptuous.
The Man being an Indian.
Man commits an offence
His ablutions are private
never they would turn public
Learn the civic sense
you, Indian who has
otherwise
a load of intelligence.
Three hundred years of colonization
a rule through many generations
impoverished the Indian nation
the cradle of the Indian Civilization.
The unity in diversity found amidst the masses
a quality rare to seek in the grosses
vanished during the British rule
traders turned administrators played the fool.
Hindus and Muslim nurtured cordiality
the different faith was not a peculiarity
the colour and the vernacular being one
could search no discrimination even for fun.
Supremacy being the prime aim
the British played a game
hatched a design to split the community
the Hindus and the Muslims developed animosity
.
The seed grew into a tree in no time
clashes and riots broke out all times
Great Britain ravished in joy
the locals fought a battle like Troy.
Independence was announced
the amity of the people got denounced
Hindus were transported to India
Muslims were sent to Pakistan.
The Indian genocide took place
most Indians lost their face
women were molested and raped
men were mutilated and stripped.
Children were burnt alive
the foetus was plucked in the drive
horror and terror prevailed largely
an eventuality of a concern deadly.
The world would have seen disasters
natural and man -made ones pernicious
nothing of such colossal magnitude
a phenomenon that portrays man’s ineptitude
Meenas Poems 